Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Grabbing my phone, I pair it with the Bluetooth speaker on the counter and get to work. I’m making fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn. And for dessert, I have everything we need for ice cream sundaes, something else I know that she loves.
I get lost in my task, singing and dancing to each new song that plays. I enjoy cooking. On the circuit, I ate out far too much, so any chance for a home-cooked meal, I’m all over it. Even better when I’m cooking for more than just me. Besides, I’ve made this meal several times. It also happens to be one of my favorites. Not the healthiest, but it’s damn good. My girl has excellent taste.
I’m pulling the chicken out of the skillet when I look up to see Baylor standing in the kitchen watching me. Her cheeks are rosy. I’m not sure if it’s from the cold winter air or the fact that she’s here, standing in my kitchen. She’s in a light blue sweater that makes her eyes sparkle, a pair of black leggings that cling to her curves, and blue socks that match her sweater, all of which pull me in. She looks casual and relaxed, standing here in my kitchen as if she belongs here, and in my eyes, she does. This is where she was meant to be.
With me.
I finish my task, place the skillet back on the stove, and reach for my phone to turn down the music, but I stop because the perfect song comes on. “I’m Gonna Love You” by Cody Johnson and Carrie Underwood hums through the speaker. My new motto in life is to never miss an opportunity again, at least not where Baylor is concerned.
Instead of turning it down, I turn it up, walk around the counter, and slide my arm around her waist.
“What are you doing?” She laughs, her hands resting on my chest, as she tilts her head back to peer up at me.
“Dancing.”
“What about dinner?”
“It’s ready, but first—” I grab her hand and twirl her out in front of me, before pulling her back into my chest. This time, I don’t let her go. I tighten my hold on her as we gently sway to the music. “First,” I murmur, my hand settling more firmly at the small of her back, “I get this.”
Her soft laughter mingles with the music, and this moment makes my chest feel too tight and too full all at once. She doesn’t fight me. She doesn’t even hesitate. She just lets me guide her as we sway between the stove and the center island, the smell of dinner hanging warm in the air around us.
Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt, like she’s grounding herself. Or maybe like she’s holding on. Damn, do I hope she’s holding on.
“Is this how you woo all the ladies?” she asks, one brow lifting. There’s no bite in her tone, just curiosity, maybe a little nerves.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “No.”
“No?” Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious.
“No,” I repeat, softer now. “I’ve only done this with you.”
The words hang there between us. I could offer her more. I could tell her I don’t have women here, in my home, but instead, I keep quiet, letting my words settle between us. I’m done taking things back when it comes to her. Done pretending this is anything less than what it is.
Her steps falter for half a second, just enough that I feel it. Just enough that I tighten my hold, steadying her. “Careful,” I tease gently. “Can’t have you backing out on me now.”
“I’m not,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. Then quieter, she adds, “I’m just… trying to catch up, I think. And I’m here for dinner. Backing out would mean me leaving, and it smells too good for that.” She grins.
“Yeah.” I nod, my thumb brushing slow circles against her side. “I don’t bring people here,” I confess. I said I wasn’t going to, but fuck it. I’m all in with her. I can see her mind racing from the look in her eyes, and I don’t want her to question this or me. I have nothing to hide.
I realize that she does have some catching up to do. I’ve replayed our earlier conversation over and over again. It’s all I’ve been able to think about today. I realize I jumped right in, no parachute for my heart, but that’s all right, because I’m determined not to need one.
I know this seems sudden to her, and my hope is that, after tonight, after I tell her everything, how I started to notice her, how I wanted to take my shot, and was going to, and then life happened. I hope once she hears it all, she’ll understand that this is real to me. The way I want her, this isn’t just the chase; this is everything I am, and it’s all on the line for her.